Father and Son
by DreamingToBePetra
Summary: Dad and Lincoln...
1. Not My Son

standard disclaimer...

A/N I would like to acknowledge Masterarcher who has written me some of the best reviews. I wasn't going to post this for a few days, but your glowing praise deserved a reward. part 1 of two

Not My Son

I looked into his eyes and realized something. This wasn't my son. Couldn't possibly be my son.

I remember when he was little, watching him play in the yard or just when he would look up at me with big eyes. There was something in him that I didn't understand. Back then I thought it was innocence, you know, that fleeting naiveté of small children that lets them smile forever. Now when I look at him. I wonder if I wasn't just seeing his bravery.

His brother had only just been born when I got what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to really change the world. A chance to be a major player.

It wasn't that I didn't love them. I did. But when I considered my options I knew something else. I loved them enough for them to be a liability, but not enough for me to change.

Once a long time ago a friend in the Company told me that just meant I didn't want the guilt of their deaths on my conscience when I betrayed them. He was right. I wouldn't have done anything differently. I still wouldn't have done anything differently. Even if it cost them their lives.

So, I looked at my life that last night. My eyes swept over the walls of the house, examined pictures and knick knacks. Stared for twenty minutes at a picture of Lincoln's on the refrigerator. It was a picture of our family that he drew the day his brother was born.

Then I went down to look in his room.

Psychology books all say that children struggle with jealousy when new babies are born, but I never saw anything like that in Lincoln. I think it was because of something his mother told him when we first found out.

She said, "You are such a strong little boy, Lincoln, and I am so proud that you're my son. When this baby comes, it's going to be a special present for you. Someone who is always yours and who you'll always belong to." She smiled in that vibrant way of hers and then, "You know what makes me happiest?"

He shook his head and I think he might have been scared.

"What makes me happiest is knowing that you are strong enough and brave enough to be tied to someone like that."

"What do you mean, Mommy?"

"You know how much Mommy loves you, right? And you know how special you feel when Mommy gives you a big hug?"

He was nodding excitedly.  
"Well, when you someone belongs to you, it's your job to always make them feel special and loved. Can you do that for the baby?"

This time the scared came back a little bit, but only for a moment, and then he looked at his mother and very gravely nodded again.

"This is my baby!"

That was a memory I never forgot, never let go of even when my whole life before the Company seemed like a dream. That and my last look at Lincoln that night as I watched him from the hall.

I never looked back after I left. I could have, I could have kept tabs on them, but I didn't. Somehow it didn't seem important. I wonder now what I would have done if I'd know. If I'd known that she died. If I'd known about anything.

But I didn't know until I heard about Steadman. That was when I started to look. I looked at their school records, Lincoln's rap sheet. I tracked down Lisa Rix and her son. I even spent an hour listening to his brother and Veronica Donovan have dinner. I found out everything I could about the little boy I left behind. And I made a decision.

The people who belonged to Lincoln were…I don't know if there's even a good word for it. He did right by them. His brother was leading a perfect life. His son was right on track to do the same. The girl from the neighborhood made it to a better world. And he'd had the good sense to let them go when he could do no more.

All that added up for me. It was an acceptable loss primarily because I thought Lincoln had done everything he could do, and there were others who could still do so much. Me included

Things weren't right though. The balance started to tip. It took three years for me to completely realize something incredible. His brother wasn't leaving it alone; his son didn't seem to be forgetting. The girl wouldn't move on. And I couldn't let go of the little boy who was either brave or naïve, but was somehow still my little boy.

But I was wrong about that. He wasn't my little boy. He wasn't my son. I understood that as I looked into his eyes at that junkyard.

The thing that shocked me at first was his anger. Mostly because it didn't seem to be about the chair or the fact that I let him go there. His rage was for his brother and his son. Even for his ex-wife, which I can't understand. He spoke of them with such passion, with such possession. As though they were his.

But the thing that really made things clear was when he sent me away. When he looked at the situation and made a decision to protect me the way I never protected him.

Because you see, this man lived something that I had only just realized, something that I never understood.

When someone belongs to you, you protect them, you sacrifice for them, and you love them even when it hurts, even when living for yourself would be easier.

Lincoln had something incredible. Three people who he claimed as his own and who claimed him in return. Three people who at some point he'd decided 'this is mine!' and who would never get anything less than the best he knew how to give.

I didn't have the right to call him my own and yet he couldn't bring himself to forget that I was once his.

I looked into the eyes of that brave little boy and I knew that even if I didn't have the right, I had the responsibility. And I wished I had the guts to do what he'd done without a thought.

Instead, I ran.

tbc...


	2. Like Father, Like Son

standard disclaimer

Like Father...Like Son...

People say a lot of things about why people are the way they are. It's how you grew up, or it's who you're parents are, or it's who you hang around with. I've always wanted to believe that I was who I chose to be. And then there are days when I can barely stand to keep breathing knowing I didn't.

I just sit here, nothing much else to do in Ad-Seg except sit and think. So I thought about my father. And I thought about my brother and my son, whose blood I share, who I raised. And I wonder if we ever had a chance. And more, I hate myself because I know that it's my fault if we didn't.

I stood there in that garage listening to him spout off his excuses. His reasons for failing us and I hated him. I hated him for all the years when it was all I could do to stay sane and keep Michael away from the bad things. I hate him for thinking my life wasn't worth it. I hate him for bringing all of this down on my son and my brother, for ruining the lives of everyone I've ever loved.

But it was too much hate, and I know myself too well. Maybe he left. Maybe he could have come back when we needed him. But I was always there. And of all the things I've seen, it's the people who are around who do the most damage. The people who screw up and fail and take when they should give; not the people who are never there.

I think of the last time I saw my father when I was a kid. I barely remember him, and I wonder how much of that is the truth and how much was because of all the lies. We'd all had dinner, Mom took Michael to bed and Dad tucked me in. He looked down at me with this grin and said something about teaching Mike to ride a bike. I laughed because Mike was just a baby. He said good night and I didn't seem him again until I was strapped into that chair.

I think of the look in his eyes before he disappeared behind that fence and I wonder what my face looked like every time I left Michael or dropped LJ off with his mother. If they ever felt abandoned like that. Part of me always looked at the people I loved and thought the sacrifices I made for them were worth it. I felt worthwhile because of them. But even though I will never regret a single thing I did for them, I know that it's my fault they are where they are.

For a long time, when I didn't have anything in my life I was proud of, I was always proud of Michael. Proud to be his brother, proud to see what he had become. I was always proud of LJ. Proud of his honesty and his heart. I was proud to say that I was a part of someone so great. And I was always comforted that someone like V could have looked at me and found something worth loving.

I was proud to call them mine. But sitting here, wishing it was all over, I realize something. The best thing I could have done would have been to die my first week in. I can't make myself wish away the years before that, can't make myself regret the memories. But if I had died before all of this. Before Michael got himself sent to prison, before LJ became bargaining collateral, before Veronica left her life behind to save me. If I had done that, maybe they could have remembered me fondly once and awhile, but they would have led wonderful lives.

When Michael first showed up at Fox River and when LJ told me what happened with Kellerman, I realized something most fathers crave. These two were like me. But unlike most fathers I was horrified. I was horrified to learn that I somehow managed to lead them straight into my own tragedy. I had somehow managed to undo all the good in there lives because I didn't have the good sense to give up.

And what was hate for my father became curiosity.

Resourceful, Michael was in my cell a few hours ago. I wasn't surprised to see him, just dismayed to see again what he could do and how he was wasting himself in such a hellhole. But as I talked to him, as I watched him twitch and whisper under his breath as he processed everything under his breath I knew there was something to fading away.

I told him to give up. I told him to get out. And even though I could tell he heard me, I'm still afraid that he won't listen. I'm still afraid that I'm going to die knowing that I really did destroy him and any hope he had for a life.

And I wonder if that's what my father was thinking when he left. If he didn't want the guilt of our lives, however we turned out, on his soul. I wonder if maybe he didn't make the smarter decision.

But then I remember. I remember watching Michael sleep when we were kids. I remember holding LJ in my arms after he was born. I remember sitting with Michael and LJ and Veronica watching a movie once. I remember seeing Michael graduate from college, and when I called him from jail the day he finished his Master's. I remember playing catch with LJ and cheering at Little League games before he told me he liked watching the game more than playing it. I remember all the times when they looked at me and smiled and I know.

They belong to me and they always will. And belonging isn't something you walk away from. If there's anything I know, that's it. And if there's anything I can be proud of, it's that no matter what happens, I belong to them too. And they know what that means.

So even if I could never really choose who I wanted to be, I know that I never belonged to the man I called Dad. And even if I can't help loving him little anyway, I know that he didn't make me into who I am either. And even if all of the bad that's happened to Michael and LJ is my fault, so is a lot of the good that they became. So if the saying goes 'like father, like son…'

I don't know who I'm like, but I know two wonderful people who somehow came out a little like me. And even if things don't work out, at least I have my memories and at least I know that when I go, I have something that was mine that I can be proud of. And I could never have left them. I can't even leave them now. Not even on days like today when I find it hard to breathe and I know that I'm not who I wanted to be.

So tonight is a night for hope and a night to remember. And really nothing can go wrong tonight. Because maybe Michael will be able to be who he wants to be, and if not at least I know that he'll be free to live and free to take care of my son.

What else could a man ask for?


End file.
